


amaranthine.

by crispy_scoliosis



Category: Haikyuu!!, ハイパープロジェクション演劇「ハイキュー!!」| Hyper Projection Play "Haikyuu!!" RPF
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Inaccurate Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, Twelve Gods of Olympus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), greek god!au, i have no idea what im doing, reader is a princess who heals people, ushijima is a god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:34:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24551680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crispy_scoliosis/pseuds/crispy_scoliosis
Summary: Even when you think of it now, you feel that the only way to describe it is that your relationship with him starts out with a bang. He’s the fire that you stoke, and he’s the rock that keeps you grounded. A human healer and an injured god—it’s oddly fitting, isn’t it?The first time you meet him, you’re on the beach. His blood bleeds into the sand, and it glows . It glows like molten gold and it reflects the sun’s lights as he props himself against a rock, his hand as shiny as his blood as he tries to stop the bleeding and wait for the wound itself to close. The armour he wears is shed and lies beside him as he waits for his wound to heal itself as quickly as possible.That’s when you know you’ve met a god.———His name is Ushijima Wakatoshi. His name is Ares. He is the god of war, and you? You are but a princess who just happened to meet him. Fate likes to play its games, and this is how it plays with yours.
Relationships: Ushijima Wakatoshi & Reader, Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader, Ushijima Wakatoshi/You
Comments: 9
Kudos: 106





	1. prologue.

**Author's Note:**

> this was a tumblr request but I decided to make it into a fic! I'm probably going to change up a bit of the lore to fit the story, so like, heads up for inaccuracies and the like.

Even when you think of it now, you feel that the only way to describe it is that your relationship with him starts out with a _bang_. He’s the fire that you stoke, and he’s the rock that keeps you grounded. A human healer and an injured god—it’s oddly fitting, isn’t it? 

The first time you meet him, you’re on the beach. His blood bleeds into the sand, and it _glows_. It glows like molten gold and it reflects the sun’s lights as he props himself against a rock, his hand as shiny as his blood as he tries to stop the bleeding and wait for the wound itself to close. The armour he wears is shed and lies beside him as he waits for his wound to heal itself as quickly as possible. 

That’s when you know you’ve met a god. 

You’d hurried to approach him. “My Lord, are you alright?” You ask, kneeling. Olive-gold eyes latch onto yours and, even in pain, the air around him remains cold and stifling. Though you stand, though your shadow casts itself over him, you feel as though _you_ are the small one, unworthy to stand in his presence. That being said, even though he’s riddled with sweat and slightly flushed, he’s still undoubtedly _handsome_. Brown hair swept backwards, no doubt a result of him running his hand through his hair, a muscular build, long limbs—he is most definitely a god. You would have been able to tell even if he _wasn’t_ bleeding ichor all over the sands of the beach. You pull yourself from your reverie when you realise you’ve been gawking at him and hurry to kneel down. The sun hits his eyes when it does, and they glow gold. “Let me help you.” 

From the way his cold, sharp gazes latches onto you and how stony his expression is, you almost forget that he’s wounded. If not for his hand tightly clutching his wound or the almost imperceptible part of his lips, you wouldn’t be able to tell that he’s wounded at all. He regards you coldly, silently, for a few moments more. “No need.” 

His voice knocks the breath from your lungs. Deep, honeyed, hot and cold at the same time—he’s way too attractive for his own good. “Please, My Lord—I insist.” You’re a princess—you’ve learned to heal from the best of the best. Even if he _is_ a god, having you here would definitely at _least_ speed up the process somewhat. “I can help. I’ve learned to heal.” 

He regards you for a few moments more. Then he grunts and moves his hand aside, allowing you to see the wound at his side in all its bloody, golden glory. You wince and hover your hands over the wound. “This will hurt, My Lord.” 

The words come to you below your breath as you chant in Greek. It’s a long spell, but the wound starts to close regardless. You’d have liked to have some herbs or ambrosia on you, but you don’t have any of that—not even nectar for him. The both of you watch as it knits itself closed, leaving only a scar, but even _that_ is starting to disappear. But you know that the god will still feel it throbbing for a few days more before the pain goes away. 

You bring a hand to your head. Perhaps you overestimated your energy levels. 

“Thank you.” The words, paired with that thunderous voice, pulls you from your thoughts. Your gaze moves on its own to meet once more with olive-gold eyes. The golden light of the sun brings his prominent features into sharp relief—he looks almost like a sculpture. A strong jawline, sharp eyes, an even sharper gaze—he’s so much more than just _handsome_. The man pulls something from the air—it looks like a cup—and offers it to you. “Drink.” 

You do. Perhaps you should know better to accept anything from anyone, deity or not—but the way he speaks is more than just _compelling_ . The drink is sweet—it morphs into something else, something that reminds you of home; your favourite drink. Before you can take hold of the cup and down some more, the god pulls it away and it disappears. Then you realise—it’s _nectar_. You wonder why he didn’t bother to take it when he was wounded, but then you realise—he probably already did. 

“Thank you.” You choke out, straightening. He’s already moving, shrugging off his armour. The deity glowers at the sea. He holds his hand outwards and the spear that had previously been cast aside flies into his hand. He murmurs something below his breath, but you can’t quite catch it. 

He turns his gaze back to you when you stand. “Are you alright, My Lord?”

The deity offers little but a hum of agreement. In a flash, his spear transforms into a belt that wraps around his waist and his armour morphs into more comfortable clothes. He pulls something else from the air—an eagle’s feather. He offers it to you and you take it. The moment you do, it glows—and it _heats up_. You yelp and release it before it can burn you, but instead of falling, it wraps around your wrist and turns into a bracelet of gold. You look up, mystified, but the god isn’t looking at you. “I am Ushijima Wakatoshi.” He says, before turning his gaze back to you. “That bracelet is my thanks to you. Should you ever need help, you need only call me by that name.” 

But there are no gods named Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

“My Lord—” You say, but when you blink—

He’s already gone. 

**__________**

Your second meeting is more pleasant. 

You’ve been walking around the market of your kingdom for a while. You’re not in disguise, per se, but you’re not exactly dressed up, either. And, anyway, you’d be recognised eventually. The townspeople make way for you despite your best efforts to mingle amongst them, but you aren’t surprised. 

So it’s odd when one of them _doesn’t_. 

You bump into a solid back; thankfully, he’s not in armour, but even without it, his physique is not unlike a brick wall. You nearly topple on your butt. A yelp leaves you and a hand shoots out to support your weight—it’s warm and it’s strong, and it takes you a moment to realise you’re not on the floor but in someone’s _arms_ . And in front of all of your _people_ , no less! Your guards are quick to pry the arms off of you. “How _dare_ you lay hands on Her Highness?” One of them says, his tone hard and his jaw set, but you’re too distracted to listen. 

_It’s him._

“My Lord,” you begin, offering a curtsy and ushering the rest of your confused guards to follow suit. “It is a pleasure to meet you again.” 

Olive-gold eyes focus on you as the people around you watch in awe and confusion at your display of respect. A royal member, bowing to someone in no more than noble attire? Surely, you were _insane_ . But you’re a little too flushed to get that through your head, and anyway, your guards have no choice but to follow your instructions when you’re obviously of a higher rank—even if they _are_ silently questioning you. 

But Ushijima pays neither of your guards any mind. His gaze remains focused on yours as the lot of you hold your bows for a few moments more before he speaks, his voice like a crack of thunder. “Rise.” 

The word itself is like a breeze—it’s like a weight’s been lifted off your shoulders. You rise immediately, as do your guards. Ushijima doesn’t bother to reveal his status, but you’re sure that, if they haven’t felt it already, his presence, the very _gravity_ that he brings with him wherever he goes, is enough to tell your guards that he is no ordinary man. Sharp eyes fix their gaze on the golden bracelet wrapped around your wrist, his parting gift from the last time you’d both met. You’re not surprised that he knows of your status, but now you wonder if he’d known from the start. “My Lord, what brings you here?” 

Ushijima casts his gaze elsewhere, surveying the tides of people; a myriad of demigods, mortals, satyrs and every other species alike that would be welcome on any mortal grounds. He doesn’t really look to be in thought, but his silence speaks otherwise. “Visiting.” 

“Have you been here before, My Lord?” You inquire. The god’s lack of word is almost frustrating, but you know better than to show such disrespect to him. Although being in the presence of a god is not unheard of, it is still a great honour, and as all deities do, they _expect_ to be treated as though they are kings, or of an even higher status if a monarch is around. Anyway, Ushijima only hums in response before turning his gaze back to you. His harsh gaze pins you to the ground, knocking the breath out of you—you wonder if this is how it feels to have a god’s attention, or if this is how it feels to have _his_. 

“A long time ago. Your kingdom has changed.” 

It’s almost odd how he doesn’t need to raise his voice to be heard all over the marketplace, even if it’s bustling with people, with different voices and shouts and languages being hurled left and right. His voice is almost _quiet_ , but so, very _loud_. “Ah! Then do you have an audience with my father?”

“Your father… King Atreo?” It occurs to you that Ushijima hasn’t moved an inch from his position. Rather, people have been walking _around_ him, and while some mortals might stare at him in curiosity, admirance, or perhaps lechery, some satyrs seem to tremble as they pass him. It’s no surprise—it’s likely they’ve already sniffed out that he’s a god, and perhaps, _what_ god he is. The feeling of a weight being lifted off your shoulders brings you back into reality and you realise it’s because Ushijima has shifted his gaze to your confused guards, who stand at attention around you. They shrink beneath his gaze, which shows only mild interest and disdain. “No, I do not. I hadn’t planned to stay long.” 

“Oh…” You offer a smile, trying to mask your embarrassment and (mild) disappointment as you bring a tentative hand to the nape of your neck. “That’s a pity. I am sure he would have liked to see you.” You say this because you know your father has never met a deity since he’s taken over as King. He once told you that he’d met Poseidon when he was but a young child, and that he was as handsome as he was arrogant and smart. The god of the sea, at the time, had chestnut brown hair and warm, brown eyes, which he warned you of. He called them deceitfully innocent. 

Ushijima tilts his head in thought. “After I visit my temple.” 

Your head shoots up in anticipation. “Your temple! Of course. Would you like us to escort you there, My Lord?” 

Ushijima thinks for a few moments more before he offers a nod in agreement. 

You turn to your guards and usher them to bring the horses. Then you turn to the deity and offer a sheepish smile. “You don’t mind waiting, do you?” To which he only shakes his head. 

When you’re all on your horses, you turn once more to Ushijima. “My Lord, may I ask which temple is—?”

“Ares.” Ushijima fixes his gaze on you, as though he’s daring you to react. “The god of war.” 

You almost fall off your horse in surprise. 


	2. Unpredictability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all rumours are meant to be believed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgive my procrastinating ass, dear readers. I hope this is to your satisfaction LSNIDUH

When you think of a god, you think of their king. You think of Zeus. You think of the Big Three; of Zeus, Hades, Poseidon. The sky, the sea, and the land that lies far beyond(or beneath) mortal reach, the _Underworld_ , where all dead travel and where all heroes return, seeking Elysium and hoping to reach the Isles of the Blest. 

And then you think of the other Olympian gods; those which have a place in Olympus, a throne unique to each and every seated deity, made to their personal preferences. You think of them all. And when one wonders, _which god is most feared? The most brutal, merciless, unreasonable god of all?_ You think of the god of war. You think of _Ares._ For Hades may lie beneath the ground, seeing to it that you meet your end, but bitter as he may be, he understands reason, wisdom, words. By no means is the ruler of the Underworld a merciful man, but he is nothing— _nothing_ —like Ares. You may wonder _why_ it is him, and thus, I shall tell you: it is because he is wild. Unrestrained, bloodthirsty, insatiable, when he is in his element. He is the _personification_ of the untamed violence seen in many hard-won battles, where the weak die and the predators become prey in an endless, unyielding cycle. There are rumours of him being disgraced, being shamed for his womanising behaviour. And yet...

Yet, why do people look to him in times of such difficulty? 

It’s simple: because he is _powerful_. Because he is a god. Both revered and feared for his power, his prowess— _this_ is Ares. 

And he’s standing. Here. _Right_ in front of you. On a horse. Staring you down, almost _daring_ you to speak against him. His gaze is as harsh and sharp as it was only moments before, but now something about it is almost… _calculating_. Patient. Watching and waiting for a response which you’ve already given him; one of unadulterated _fear_. 

_This_ is the god you saved that day. The god of fucking _war_. 

The fear is instantaneous, of course; it shows in the way your breath hitches, the way your grip tightens on the reins of your house, the way your eyes widen ever-so-slightly and the way your lips part. Ushijima Wakatoshi—no— _Ares_ , may be more muscle than brains(in comparison to his sister, Athena), but he is accustomed to fear. You’ve heard that he relishes in it. Now that he is before you, you wonder if that’s true. 

And you wonder if he will do more to make that fear _much_ more prominent. 

When his gaze leaves yours to focus on your guards, they are quick to straighten. They, too, tighten their grips on the reins of their steed, stiffening in their saddles. Each and every one of them try and fail to hold the deity’s gaze, but eventually, that molten gaze looks elsewhere. He says nothing.

All have heard tales of his so-called womanising nature. Why, then, do you not see it? Before you is a commander, a man who holds the attention of the very people around him. And yet, not _once_ have you seen him ogle at a woman, nor has he laid hands on you. Here, he is more Mars than Ares, and yet, he calls himself the latter. 

Perhaps not all rumours are true. After all, they are but mere words. Even gods cannot control the way words travel. 

“At ease.” His voice startles you from your reverie. His gaze is not fixed on you, but the palace that which you reside. A breeze passes through the group of you, and only then does he focus his stare on you. Immediately, you freeze. “Well?” 

You blank. _Well what_ —?

Ah. 

_His temple!_

“Of course!” You exclaim, perhaps a little louder and quicker than necessary. It turns a few heads and startles the palace guards from their trance, and you throw each of them a warning glance. _Watch your manners_ , your eyes say, despite the fact that your lips remain shut. You almost miss the way they gulp when you turn your eyes back to the deity before you, who, to your surprise is already looking your way. Under the glare of the sun, his features are almost _sculpted_. He is handsome, ethereal; every bit the benevolent, proud deity he should be. _And nothing like the ones disgraced in rumours and tales._ “If—if you will come this way, My Lord.” 

He raises a thick eyebrow, no doubt questioning your sudden change in demeanour. From grateful to fearful to forcefully jovial—to him, it’s almost amusing. Mortals and their ways will never cease to entertain him(though his expression remains a cold mask of no emotion). Nonetheless, he follows you as you lead him up the hill. It takes but a few more minutes before you reach your destination. You slide from your horse and the others follow suit. Ushijima lands on the ground with little to no sound; his horse stays obediently in place before he brings his gaze to the temple. It’s grand and decorated, as a temple dedicated to an Olympian should be. Even now, people go in and out. The Greek may preach disapproval of Ares’s brutal ways, but still they go to him to seek his strength. Mortals are strange in their ways, if not insufferable. The god wastes little time ogling at his temple; his movements are brisk and quick as they enter. It’s almost humorous how the crowd parts for him without noticing. It’s in the way he walks—as though he _expects_ them to part before him and lower their heads in respect. He holds an air of steely indifference. 

He casts a fleeting glance at the sculptures raised in his honour before turning his gaze to the food offerings. The priests’ cast their hawk-like gazes on him, suspicious. Without paying them any mind, he reaches out to take hold of an apple. Almost immediately, all eyes are on him. 

“M-my Lord,” a mortal stammers nervously. “Those are offerings to Lord Ares. I hear tales of people burning up in flames should they dare to take his food.” 

Ushijima’s molten gaze shuts him up immediately, pinning him to the ground. You forget that others do not know who he is. It’s almost comical, actually, now that you think about it. Nonetheless, Ushijima turns his gaze back to his offerings before he takes a bite out of the apple; he says nothing, of course, but his actions speak louder than words. You’d determined that the deity was more action-oriented, of course, but this is almost another level in itself. It’s as though the entire temple takes in a sharp breath—a hush falls. 

Ushijima pays little mind. He continues to finish the apple until its core before it goes up in flames; the ashes are swept away in the wind. The deity meets the gaze of a priest and nods in acknowledgment before he turns around. The silence he leaves in his wake is almost deafening in its nature, and it feels as though the entire temple is so shocked its forgotten how to speak. The air sparks with tension; everyone’s breaths are held and it is so, so _suffocating._ Even so, the deity continues his path onward; only when he mounts his horse and gestures for you and your guards to follow him do you remember to move. Even then, you feel breathless. 

“My Lord,” you say finally after a few moments of riding in silence. “Was that necessary?” 

He doesn’t answer you for a few moments. When he does, his words are flat. “Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate any further(as much as you wish he would have, but you don’t dare to question him any more for fear of crossing a line that isn’t meant to be crossed). So, instead, you ride in silence. You don’t realise where you’re going; somehow, you’ve become enraptured by his appearance. He sits tall and proud on his horse; his head is held high in a silent declaration of confidence and his harsh eyes make him look untouchable. His features are defined, harsh, sculpted. He is a god through and through with almost no flaws on his face. He is handsome in a rough-around-the-edges way, the way soldiers are. He _is_ the god of war, after all. 

“Halt—Your Highness?” The words pull you from your reverie. Surprised, you tear your gaze away from the deity before you, taking in your surroundings for the very first time since you’ve left the temple. Since when have you been so absorbed in a _man?_ And a _deity_ —no, an _Olympian_ —no less! You give yourself a mental slap and look down, meeting warm brown eyes. 

“Daichi,” you breathe out in a rush, surprised. You’re at the entrance of your own home. Your gaze finds its way to Ushijima, who turns to look at you patiently. He says nothing, but you know what he expects of you. To allow him entry. You’re surprised he doesn’t barge in; Ares is a god known for his brutish ways, but are all rumours true? 

You tear yourself from your thoughts, forcing yourself to meet Daichi’s questioning gaze. “It’s fine. Pay your respects, Daichi.”

The confusion is visible on his features. Sawamura Daichi—the commander of all the knights of the palace guard and your old time friend. Despite his unsureness, he does as told, offering Ushijima a deep bow. “Welcome, My Lord.” When he rises, his gaze on you is firm, but it conveys the message perfectly all the same— _“we’ll talk about this later”._

Sheepishly, you nod, and Daichi barks out orders. The rest of the palace guard are quick to obey. The group of you enter; if Ushijima notices the questioning stares(not many are allowed entry on such short notice in your kingdom), he reacts to none of them. He dismounts his horse almost gracefully, his movements fluid as he lands on the ground with little to no sound. His harsh, olive-gold gaze surveys his surroundings for but a moment before he turns to you. “Change of plans. I will meet with Atreo.” 

Confused, you stand there. “Why?” The words leave your lips, unbidden. Horrified, your hands fly up with your eyes wide. It’s as though everyone holds their breaths again for the second time that day. Ushijima’s gaze on you pins you to the ground, knocking the breath out of you once more. The pressure is intense and unyielding— _is this the power of an Olympian’s gaze?_ You wonder. _Or is it because it is Ares?_

To your surprise, he looks away with no notable change in his expression(though you swear his lips are curled into the ghost of a smile). “In time, Princess.” 

You don’t know why, but something about the way he says it—the way the title rolls smoothly off his tongue in that deep, sultry voice—leaves you more flushed than you’d like. 

Ushijima doesn’t bother to introduce himself. He walks forward and the guards part for him immediately; he doesn’t even have to pause. The deity walks forward at a consistent pace; quick but not rushed(but even still, you have to jog and even run a little to keep with his long limbs). The olive-haired god doesn’t bother to look back to make sure you’re following—he _expects_ you to. You wonder if all gods are like this. 

The King’s retainers hurry to stop him before he can open the doors, looking at you in panic and question when Ushijima stops in his tracks to stare them down. _If looks could kill, they’d be dead by now_ , you think, then remember that Ushijima’s expression has hardly changed to begin with since you’ve met him. _Does he know how intimidating he is?_ Somehow, the thought of him _not_ knowing is strangely endearing. 

You push the thought aside. Nothing good ever comes out of getting involved with deities. 

(You’ll eat your words in due time.)

You look to Ushijima, whose gaze is fixed on you; it’s expectant and agonisingly patient. The calm is a little daunting, in all honesty. Before you stands an Olympian, stands _Ares_ , the god of war and the blood it sheds, whose rumours are that of a womaniser’s and a brute’s with little care for manners or pleasantries, who does as he pleases with little regard for those around him—and he is _nothing like any of those._ He’s unpredictable, and unpredictability is dangerous. It is _wild_. 

“Let him in. He’s…” You clear your throat, hesitant to speak his name before the guard. “He is an Olympian. Pay your respects.” 

Everyone almost chokes. You miss the way Ushijima’s eyes narrow in your direction; you’re a second too slow. By the time your gaze fixes on him, he’s giving the retainer an expectant look. His eyebrows raise only a fraction, as though he’s asking, _“well?”_

His movements are hurried. He steps aside, almost tripping over his own robe. Ushijima wastes no time, opening the door and stepping foot into the throne room. Your father rises immediately, surprise morphing into confusion when he sees you filing in behind the god. The door closes on its own—you bow to your father. Ushijima does not. 

King Atreo narrows his eyes(it’s not his fault; he’s clueless, after all. To him, Ushijima Wakatoshi looks like a stubborn child who refuses to pay his respects to him, the _king_ of your kingdom.) “And who might you be, good sir?” 

Ushijima tilts his head to the side. His hair falls before his eyes, softening his harsh gaze(one which your father refuses to waver at). “I have many names.” He steps forward, reaching his left hand outwards. A spear materialises in his hand and he bangs the butt of it onto the ground, his gaze never leaving that of your father’s. Your breath catches in your throat. _What is he planning to do?_ You can hear your blood rushing and your pulse in your ears, so loud that you fear the deity might hear it. _He can’t possibly be thinking of_ killing _him, right?_

What would your father have done to warrant such an action? Unless—

_Unless Ares really_ is _as he is rumoured to be?_

“Most know me as Ares.” 

Your father’s breath catches in his throat. “M-My Lord, forgive my—” 

“You can call me Ushijima.” With a wave of his hand, a table appears before you. There are two chairs on your father’s side and one on the deity’s. “Take a seat.”

He reaches out for the chair before him and takes a seat. His voice is like thunder. 

“We have much to discuss.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow my tumblr!
> 
> @big-oya-energy


	3. The Madmen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The deity speaks his reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes im alive helloooo

“If I may be so bold, my Lord,” your father begins hesitantly as he pours the deity before him a warm cup of tea. “Why must we refer to you as _Ushijima_?” U-shi-jee-mah. Your father plays with the foreign name in an unfamiliar manner; after all, the name is certainly not of Greek origin. The deity takes a sip in silence. He does not answer immediately, but when he does, his words are slow. 

“We are two beings,” he begins, setting the cup down. His sharp gaze steadily meets with your father’s. Though you are not the subject of it, the weight still presses down on you, robbing you of the ability to breathe for several agonising moments. You wonder how someone can be allowed to have so much power at the tip of their fingers, in their gazes. It’s telling you, _this is the power of a god._ It’s telling you, _none of the tales you’ve heard are exaggerations._ Because if Ushijima so wishes, he can most definitely tear you apart without so much as looking at you. His rough voice pulls you from your stupor, his words nothing short of bewildering. “I am the host of Ares, and we exist as one.” 

It’s strange because it doesn’t make sense. It’s _exciting_ because it doesn’t make sense. You can’t stop the frown from showing on your features before you ask in spite of yourself, self-restraint be damned, “What do you mean?” 

Now, you feel the full weight of the deity’s gaze once more. It pins you to your seat and you straighten your back, feeling like you shouldn’t be backing down. Gods know what will happen if you do. It’s not unlike being faced with an ancient beast, wild and untamed as it tests your strength, your mental fortitude. In Ushijima’s gaze is the experience of a soldier’s many hard-won battles, the gaze of a man who has seen much blood, the gaze of someone who has outlived all beings by millennia. “Ushijima Wakatoshi was a soldier who fought wars for the Greek,” he begins, then pauses. “ _I_ was a supreme commander. My country fought a war against invaders that wished to conquer our land many years ago. We succeeded.” Ushijima flexes his fingers on the table, his tone calm. “I am of Japanese descent. My bloodline has lived here for centuries.” 

He takes another sip of tea. “Ushijima Wakatoshi fought valiantly and received my blessing. Before he fought his last battle, he agreed to be my host. He commands my power as his own. But I do not like to reveal my true form; it is not suitable for mortal eyes.” 

You’re curious now. If that is the case, could that be the reason why Ares has not ogled at any woman in a lecherous manner? Could this be the reason he is not like the rumours say? Could it be that, because the host is Ushijima Wakatoshi, he is unable to do as he pleases? You wonder how long it has been since the deity before you has been in his host’s body. 

Ushijima releases a very not-serious snort of disdain, uncharacteristic for even him. Paired with that arrogant glint in his eyes, you suspect that whoever you are speaking to right now is more Ares than Ushijima. “Of course, we had our ups and downs at first. Ushijima is like a rock. He might well be abstinent. He’s not touched a single woman in his life. I’ve never had a host so controlling of me.” 

Your father stares at the god before him, at a loss for words. When he speaks again, you take note of the tightly restrained way he speaks, as though he doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry. “Then why has My Lord paid us a visit?” 

Ushijima’s expression sombers as he regains control. Something about the look in his eyes is exasperated as he takes charge once more, as though this is not the first time Ares has complained of his lack of lecherous actions. “First, we are here to thank Your Highness’s daughter formerly.” Sharp eyes meet yours and he gives an almost imperceptible nod of his head. “She healed me not long ago.” He doesn’t say that even if you hadn’t, he would have been fine anyway. You don’t know why, but it makes you smile nonetheless. Your father is no stranger to your deeds; he knows you helped to heal a god on the shores of the beach not long ago. However, he’d never thought that you’d healed _Ushijima_. That you’d healed _Ares._ King Atreo stares at you with his mouth agape. 

You shake your head instead. “My Lord is too kind,” you begin. “It is only natural that I give aid to a person in their time of need.” 

Something flashes in Ushijima’s eyes, but you do not catch it. Instead, he sours, as though he’s arguing with someone in his head. None of you catch it, and he gives you a stiff nod of acknowledgment. “I was fighting with Oikawa,” he begins. “He is the host of Poseidon. We have long since been enemies.” Hearing this, the two of you can only stare in amazement. Though the matters of Olympus can hardly be called a secret, it is still difficult to imagine these benevolent deities arguing with each other when it was them who fought together to overthrow Kronos’s reign. Though both of you know better than to voice such thoughts, you still can’t help but wonder, _is the rivalry between the hosts or the deities themselves? Or both?_

“But I suspect this matter is not so simple.” Ushijima taps his fingers on the table. “He is not unreasonable. Oikawa likely thought I was someone else.” Thick brows furrow in thought for but a moment before his expression resumes its usual stoniness. “He likely thought I intended to bring ruin unto his domain.” 

“Why would he think that?” The question leaves your lips before you can stop yourself. You resist the urge to cover your mouth as soon as you finish asking. Your father shoots you a reprimanding look; you don’t need to know why. You’ve spoken out of turn. Still, Ushijima doesn’t seem to care. 

“The minor gods are revolting.” Ushijima’s expression is troubled. “Proteus, perhaps. Or Nereus. They seek to overthrow him so that they may rule the sea. He is wary.” 

“The minor gods?” Now Atreo speaks, unable to keep silent any longer. “Why? Surely they do not have the power to overthrow an Olympian.” 

Ares focuses his gaze on the King, then sighs. “The power of a god depends on their worshippers. The more we are believed in, the more power we hold. There has been talk of minor gods in the mortal word recently.” Ushijima raps his knuckles against the table in a sharp manner. “Someone is helping the minor ones regain power. We do not yet know who their leader is, but that is why I am here. Do not authorise any more godly shrines until this matter is settled. The last thing we need is another godly war.” 

The meaning behind his words rings clearly in the air. _Else there might not be any mortals to survive it._ And what worth does a god without believers have? 

A voice whispers darkly in your head as a response. _None._

“Then why would they want to revolt?” Atreo asks. His lips are pursed, and you can see the gears turning in his head. To restrict the people from building another shrine… Such a task should not be taken lightly. After all, the people are selfish. They will question this decision to no end, and godly matters are not taken without weight either. “There have been so many years of peace. Why now?”

Ushijima raises a bemused eyebrow at Atreo. “Are you not a king?” 

The question stuns the both of you into silence, but the deity before you does not speak any further. Instead, his gaze is expectant as he waits for your father to catch on to the meaning behind his words. When he does, his words are soft. “... They are tired of living in the shadows, with no power.” It’s a response to his own question. 

Ushijima finally nods in approval. “They are tired of being ignored. Someone has risen to take the lead. That makes them dangerous.” There are hundreds, perhaps even _thousands_ of minor gods in the world. United… you shudder at the thought. 

“Surely not all minor gods seek to fight?” You blurt out. 

Ushijima almost scoffs. “No. That doesn’t mean it will be any easier.” 

At this, you fall silent. You know better than to retort when he is right. 

Ushijima continues his explanation. You wonder for a moment if he usually speaks this much; the man you met on the beach was one of few words, after all. Then again, even now, he does not speak more than he has to. He falls silent when he finishes what he intends to say, and only continues when he remembers more. 

“They seek to reform the Olympian system.” 

Silence. 

You blanch. “ _What?_ ”

To reform the Olympian system is to overthrow all twelve of the current gods of Olympus before replacing them completely. Such a thought is _outrageous_ at best. 

But the madmen, the ones that are unafraid of danger and of death, who are willing to go beyond what the others think is possible, are always the puppeteers of the show. 

Atreo holds up a hand before you can speak any further. “Perhaps it would be better to have the people ask before they build their shrines.” He hesitates. “They will not take being restricted with a light heart. It would be better to have them ask the palace for permission before they start constructing. This way, we might be able to monitor their shrines, and we will know if there are any being built for minor gods.” 

Ushijima focuses his gaze on Atreo for but a moment before he finally nods his head. “Watch the priests with a close eye. They may be spies.”

One moment, he is before you. 

In the next, he is gone. 

—————

“Your Highness.” Sawamura Daichi’s voice pulls you from your reverie as you leave the throne room in a daze. You turn your gaze to his and he inclines his head in respect, which only serves to make you breathe out in exasperation. 

“How many times have I told you to just call me [Name], Daichi?” You ask with a smile curling at the corners of your lips. You make your way to the palace garden and the captain of the palace guard trails behind you. He chuckles warmly, but says nothing. 

The words hang unsaid in the air. _Rumours._

You know him well enough to predict his response, but you’d asked anyway. 

“So? Are you going to explain?” Daichi finally says after a few more agonising moments of silence. His tone is more curious than accusing, but you flinch sheepishly anyway. Sawamura Daichi is a composed man, but you have a feeling that Ushijima’s almost arrogant air has ticked him off, which you suppose is fair. Alluring as he may be, there will still be those who despise the overly proud. Even so, you feel as though the deity’s pride is well-earned and hard-won. You purse your lips, knowing better than to voice your thoughts. 

“Who was that man?” 

“A god,” you begin vaguely. Then, when you’re met with silence, you continue. “An Olympian. Ares.” 

Then Daichi stops in his tracks. The absence of the sounds of footsteps behind you prompts you to stop in turn, and you turn to face your old friend. “I’m not lying. Do I look like the type to jest about these sorts of manners?”

Daichi’s expression is one of shock. “I… you…” He fumbles for words for a few moments, eyes wide in astonishment. Then he chokes, “ _Ares_?” 

You know that Daichi’s bloodline has long served in the military. You also know that a god that the bloodline particularly worships is Ares himself. You think he must be rather aghast, seeing as he was irate with said deity not too long ago. You watch as he blanches in poorly concealed amusement as he fumbles for words for a few moments more before he finally snaps, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You laugh. “I think we are both aware.” 

It can’t be helped, really. You were pressed for time; you wouldn’t have been able to squeeze a word in edgewise. And you doubt he would be happy with you exposing his identity like that without any prior warning; after all, Ushijima seems like the type to only introduce himself as Ares when necessary. You don’t think he’s the type to flaunt his title around. 

Unlike a few gods you have heard of. 

Oikawa Tooru is indeed better known as Poseidon. All this time, you’d assumed that he merely called himself that because he thought it would be better to have more names; be it for protection or just for the heck of it. Now, though, you know that it’s because Oikawa Tooru _is_ his name, and because he is Poseidon’s host, he is also known as such. 

As concisely as possible, you tell Daichi of the events that have just transpired. You start from your meeting with the deity on the streets of your kingdom, to the shrine, then finally, in hushed tones, you tell him of the discussion your father and you had with him. But he would have known eventually; the task of monitoring shrines would undoubtedly be given to him to watch over. But you figure it’s better to tell him first, because you doubt your father will offer an explanation as detailed as yours. 

A part of you is excited. You don’t quite know why just yet, but your heart speeds up every time you mention Ushijima’s name. 

Then, at night, when you prepare to sleep, your eyes find themselves on the golden bracelet around your wrist, given to you so many months ago when you’d first met the deity. 

_Should you ever need help, you need only call me by that name._

Then you shake your head. He is alluring at best, but you know he’s dangerous. 

_Nothing good ever comes out of being involved with deities._

**Author's Note:**

> amaranthine; immortal, undying, eternally beautiful. 
> 
> my tumblrs!  
> @big-oya-energy (haikyuu x reader)  
> @crepisculum (prompts, hero x villain)  
> @amkxh (the account that shows up on your notifications)


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